


onward to distant heavens

by sweetsunshines



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsunshines/pseuds/sweetsunshines
Summary: fifteen years. that's how long rufus and tseng have known each other.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Comments: 15
Kudos: 56





	onward to distant heavens

**Author's Note:**

> tsengru stans come get yall food
> 
> honestly i'm so confused on how the timeline and ages works now with remake so while the passage of time is gently implied in this play with it in ur head if you prefer to think of things happening at different points in time/etc

i.

The air is a little too humid for comfort under Tseng’s pressed black suit. He feels suffocated by the tight knot of his tie at his throat, among other things; the boy sitting in front of him at the top of that list. As soon as he turns around Tseng loosens his tie, not enough to be noticeable, and breathes a silent sigh of relief. That helps one of his problems, at least.

“You don’t have to stay here,” he says.

“I was ordered to escort you,” Tseng replies, trying to keep his composure. The boy has been awfully moody the whole morning.

“I don’t see why.”

Truthfully, Tseng doesn’t either. He’d been training for a year now, and silently, he believes he should be taking on more difficult tasks than escorting the President’s son around. They’d told him the boy would be more comfortable around someone his own age. Tseng thinks no one else wanted to deal with his sulking.

“Even so, it’s my job.”

Rufus turns around, jaw set into a hard display of defiance, but Tseng can pinpoint the petulant temper in his eyes that immediately turns this from dangerous into a mild annoyance at best.

“We’ll be late,” he says swiftly, attempting to defuse the situation before it even begins. If there’s anything about this job he’s well suited for, it’s his negotiation skills.

“Who will be escorting me back?”

Tseng hides his grimace until he’s facing the door. “I believe that would be me.” He stands with one hand behind his back, the other extended palm-up gesturing into the hallway, wordlessly urging the boy to go first.

“Hm.” Rufus grabs his gray bag from where it lies propped up against the desk and stomps out into the corridor.

Later, when Tseng shows up to escort him back home, he watches crowds of children and teenagers in their neatly pressed and tucked uniforms flood from the gates of the academy. Tseng waits patiently until all the other groups have cleared out of the schoolyard, and has a flash of momentary panic that maybe Rufus escaped his attention in the chaos. He chews the inside of his lip, wondering if he should report it or look for him, and reaches to pull his phone from his pocket when he sees a single boy in white walking down the grand stairs of the rustic brick building.

“Are you ready?”

Rufus’ eyes wander to the pathway curving past the gates and into the residential area, where the wealthiest and most elite in the city call home. The last groups of children disappear down the path, their echoing laughs ringing in Tseng’s ears. Rufus’ gaze lingers just a second too long before he tears it away and heads off in front of Tseng. “Yeah,” he says, but he’s already steps ahead.

ii.

“I heard your lessons are going well.”

Rufus turns around in his ornately carved wooden chair, spires standing tall and clearly expensive on the back. If he’d been anyone else, he might have missed Rufus’ subtle jump at the words, the way his eyes widened for just a moment before returning to their normal—which for Rufus, meant eternally stormy—gaze.

But Tseng wasn’t anyone else. He was trained by the Turks, which meant he caught onto subtle things like that. He was sure Rufus would be indignant if he ever found out, so he let it go, remaining where he stood in the doorway.

“Did they send you to escort me somewhere again?”

“No,” Tseng replies. He can’t blame him for wondering. His superiors had told him again and again: _you do so well handling the President’s son. We’ll assign you to him more often. Don’t look like that, escorting important clients is a top priority of the Turks, you know that._ He has the sinking suspicion his dedication to the job has gotten him into a lifetime of something he can’t quite put his finger on yet, but he doesn’t let himself think about it for too long.

“Then why are you here?”

“I was actually sent to bring you something to eat,” Tseng admits. Every day this feels less like security detail and more like babysitting. Babysitting that pays well, at least. “You haven’t left this room in—” He glances at the clock. “Seven hours.”

Rufus waves a dismissive hand and turns back to the paperwork in front of him. “I should finish this first. Leave it on the table.”

“Sir—” Tseng hesitates. He’s dealt with criminals, insurgents, and the top executives at Shinra, but he’s still not sure how to navigate a boy his own age. “I think it would be best if you took a break.”

Rufus hums, tapping his pencil against his mouth. “Tseng, do you know anything about the engineering of the newest Mako reactors?”

Tseng’s brows raise in surprise. “I—a bit. Why do you ask?”

“I’m drafting some plans for the company’s expansion outside the city.” He blows out a breath. “But it is giving me trouble.”

Tseng doesn’t reply. He was told the boy was currently on break from school, so he would be around the company much more these next few weeks. He knew, from listening to the children as he escorted Rufus from school some afternoons, many of the wealthier families were leaving for vacation. He should’ve known Rufus’ father wouldn’t have time for any such things. Of course he’d be here, doing whatever was expected of him to earn the family crown.

“If it will get you to eat,” Tseng finally says, and crosses the room to where Rufus sits. Rufus moves his chair over a few inches to make room for Tseng, who hesitates, but takes the seat and drags the paper toward him with one gloved hand. He doesn’t know much about business models or five-year plans or anything that happens on this side of the company, but the equations scrawled on the paper are simple enough. Predicting energy output to determine where to place reactors, how many—straightforward math. Rufus listens attentively while Tseng explains how to solve the problems in rushed handwriting, scrawled and erased and attempted again, and realizes Rufus must have spent hours poring over this one file.

“Oh. I should’ve seen that,” he finally says when it’s done, blinking at the sheet now filled with Tseng’s own meticulous handwriting. “I’ll remember for the next one.”

“I’ll get your meal,” Tseng says by way of an answer, rising to his feet.

“Wait,” Rufus says, stopping him before he can step away. “Will you stay here?”

“What?”

“I just thought that you hadn’t had anything to eat yet either, so—” He shakes his head. “Never mind. Just leave it on the table.”

Tseng opens his mouth to speak, but he’s not sure what he would say. He nods once, slipping out of the room, and leaving the tray on the table just as he’d asked. He hovers beside it for a minute, feeling like he should say _something,_ but he still can’t work out just what it is. He leaves just as silently as he’d come, a bothersome feeling itching at his insides all the way back to the Turks’ office.

iii.

Rufus steps out of the elevator and shivers. This high up in the building, everything is reinforced steel and security-locked checkpoints. There’s none of the warmth or design of the lower levels, with technicolor displays and velvet chairs and potted plants. This coldness is still new to him. He had only recently been granted high enough clearance to freely traverse these upper levels, and even now, his presence garners a few stray stares from anyone else wandering about. Not that there are many of them. Unlike the other floors of the building, no one takes their time to mill around. Everyone this important is on a mission.

He positions himself against a handrail and stares at the doors leading to the meeting rooms. He’s not allowed in there yet, either, not until he gets a real position at the company, his dad had said. Which, of course, would be soon; he’d known his whole life he would dedicate everything to Shinra. _It will all pay off one day,_ he tells himself, something deep and unrelenting stirring in his stomach. He’s quickly pulled out of his thoughts when he hears footsteps— _looks like they’re done with their meeting_ —but when he turns around, it’s Tseng.

“Oh. Hello, sir.” He nods politely, standing by the closing doors like he’s not sure what to do with Rufus there. “Is there anything you need help with?”

“Just waiting for my dad.” He motions toward the meeting room, though Tseng had probably guessed that. He runs his nails over the metal of the railing. “What brings you all the way up here?”

Tseng holds up the manila folder in his hands. “Some documents for the director.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, both Rufus’ father and Tseng’s own boss step out from the automatic doors. His father looks displeased—not an abnormality after long meetings—and beside him, Veld looks almost cheery. He sees the way Tseng’s face lights up with a genuine smile as Veld approaches him with open hands to take the folder.

“Thank you for running this up, Tseng.” He places a hand on his shoulder. “What would I do without you?”

“Perhaps be more organized, sir,” he says, but the words have a smile behind them.

“Ah.” He winks. “Perhaps.”

Rufus opens his mouth to take advantage of the silence and speak to his father, but the President beats him to it. “Rufus. I won’t have time for dinner today with the meetings running late. Why don’t you finish up and head home early?”

Rufus’ cheeks burn with the outright rejection from his own father. He tries to ignore the stares he feels from both Tseng and Veld to his right, swallowing his embarrassment and mustering any semblance of pride left in him to respond. “I will. I’ll see you at home, then.”

Somehow, he waits long enough for both his father and Veld to return to the conference room before pacing back to the elevator. Tseng stands a respectful distance behind him, but Rufus doesn’t turn around. When the elevator dings and they both step inside, he tries to put as much distance between them as possible, not wanting Tseng to see his still-red face. It’s Tseng that breaks the silence first.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Sir?”

His voice is…gentler than it usually is. There’s no rehearsed rhythm to the words, no weight on the word sir. Rufus risks a glance up. Tseng watches him patiently, the way he’s familiar with anyone in Shinra watching him while expecting an answer from the one person with enough influence to put their career at risk if he felt so inclined. But something about Tseng lacks the tension, the fear. He’s easier to be around than the others Rufus had previously been left in the care of. And the idea of not being alone for once is too tempting to pass up.

“If you have enough time—” He pauses, suddenly self-conscious. He shouldn’t be. His father had told him thousands of times that the world belongs to him; everything was at his fingertips, and if he wanted something, all he needed to do was take it. Perhaps that works in board meetings and business negotiations, but Rufus has the feeling Tseng lies outside the jurisdiction of his empire.

And that’s precisely why he likes him.

“I have a few things to do before I’m done for the day. Would you help me?”

Rufus can’t read Tseng’s face when he says, “Of course, sir. Lead the way.”

So he does. He leads him to a suite a few floors down, where teams had been working on Shinra’s newest problem; complications inside a reactor that had engineers and scientists committing long nights with constant trips across the city. A project of this magnitude required all the attention it could get, and so Rufus had been tasked with helping where he was needed. It was the best he could do, but it wasn’t nearly as much as the tireless work the professionals around him had been putting in. And so he’d cleared one table of the endless mounds of paperwork and instead filled it with small flower bouquets wrapped in red cellophane, as a small thank you to everyone for their sleepless nights, and perhaps for forgiving any missteps he’d made over the weeks in his own inexperience.

Rufus makes for the files stacked on another table. Tseng remains by the door, eyes wandering around the room, inspecting everything that isn’t Rufus. Finally, they land on the flowers. “What are these?”

“Huh? Oh.” Rufus turns around and instinctively touches one. “I had them ordered for the employees working on the mako reactor. They’ve been putting in a lot of overtime…” He tucks the folders under his arms and uses his now free hands to pick one up. “You should take one too.”

Tseng immediately shakes his head. “I can’t do that, Sir. Thank you for the offer.”

Rufus crosses the room to where Tseng stands. He takes one hand and opens it up, placing the stems in his palm and curling his fingers closed. “You should. You’ve done a lot for…” He trails off. He’d been raised to be a businessman, not a friend; he’s not sure how to express things like this. “The company,” he finally settles on. Before the blush on his face can spread, he adds, “Being in the Turks isn’t easy.”  
Tseng raises an eyebrow. “Do you know what we do?”

“Well, not entirely,” Rufus admits. “But isn’t that the point?”

To his surprise that elicits a laugh, bright and pleasant, just like the one Veld drew out of him earlier. Rufus decides he likes it. He soaks in the way Tseng holds the blossoms gently, how he looks at them like they’re precious things, and thinks, maybe Shinra HQ could use a lot more flowers.

iv.

It’s early afternoon when Tseng finds Rufus on the roof. He feels a twinge of nausea when he stands too close to the safety rails, leaning over to see all of Midgar beneath him, but even if Tseng were to yell, he’s not sure Rufus could hear him over the wind. It’s a balmy summer day and Tseng is just a twinge annoyed about having to leave the temperature-controlled building, but he can’t imagine Rufus is fairing any better in his white suit buttoned up to the neck. Best to get him inside as soon as possible.

“Rufus,” he calls when he finally gets close enough. Rufus turns at the same time Tseng hears an otherworldly barking. He turns to see a—dog?—barreling toward him and baring its teeth Tseng thinks are too long to be natural. Rufus pus one hand out and it stops in its tracks, eyes no less vicious, intentions to shred Tseng to pieces still very evident in its snarls. 

“She’s still not very friendly,” Rufus says, like that explains everything. He walks to her and strokes the top of her head, and the thing goes from rabid to docile just like that. Tseng lightly rubs the back of his head. 

“Right,” he says. “I was told to bring you back for a meeting.”

“For my dad?”

“I believe it was for him, yes.”

Rufus’ face sours in an instant. He leaves the creature’s side and goes back to the guardrails, gripping them until his knuckles are white. The wind picks up, now violent enough to whip his bangs out of his eyes. He stares down at the city below him in a way Tseng can only describe as longing.

“I’m going down there.”

“Sorry, sir?”

Rufus turns to face him. “I don’t want to see my dad right now, or work on anything for the company.” He makes a gesture and the dog trots off, where to Tseng can’t imagine. “Have you been to the park on the edge of the Sector 5 plate?”

Of course he would make this difficult. “No, sir, but—"

“You should come with me, then.”

“I should stay here. I’m on duty right now.”

Rufus pushes away from the railing and comes closer, squinting his eyes. Tseng feels oddly scrutinized under his gaze. “Your duty is to guard me. And I’m going, so you have to come.” He doesn’t wait for Tseng to follow before making for the elevator. Tseng only has half a second to debate before gritting a sigh through his teeth and half-jogging to catch up with him before the door slides closed.

Rufus winds his way through the paths of Sector 5 by memory, a surprisingly short walk from the building, until the brick apartments disappear and give way to a clearing. It isn’t much, just a patch of grass with some swings and a fountain that looks ancient, some discarded plastic tools in a sandbox, and rusting climbing bars, but there isn’t much greenery at all up here on the plate. Tseng has to admit, it’s nice.

That doesn’t take away his anxiety about practically kidnapping the President’s son.

“Come on. Come sit down.” Rufus pats the swing next to him. He looks so much more like the eighteen-year-old he is, dragging his feet in the dirt to move his swing, bright blue eyes more alight than Tseng had ever seen them poring over documents or listening to briefings. He should take him by the collar back to Shinra right now. This is his job, his entire childhood of effort. Letting his charge run off to the playground wouldn’t look good at all against his otherwise perfect track record. _You’re promising,_ Veld had said, _so accomplished at such a young age._

And still, another part of him he hates to acknowledge wants to let Rufus have this.

Tseng takes the swing beside him and stares up at the sky, then back to Rufus. He smiles back, satisfied, like there’s some secret only he knows. “You grew up in Sector 6, right? Topside?”

He nods. “I did.”

Rufus nods slowly along with him. “I bet you had better things than this when you were younger. Sector 6 is nice. You know, where it’s not all industrial buildings.”

“I suppose. I wouldn’t know.”

Rufus stops. “You’ve never been to the park?”

“No time,” Tseng says simply.

“Hm.” Rufus grabs hold of the chain and lifts his feet off the ground. “Thought you might say that. That’s why I took you here.”

Tseng swallows. He chooses not to follow up on that one. “How did you find this place?”

“By chance. I take walks when I want to get away and found it.”

“Take walks?” He arches one brow. Without security?”

“I’m fine. It’s not far. I—”

Footsteps crunch in the dirt behind them. It’s barely audible, but Tseng is on his feet and shielding Rufus’ body in seconds, gun pointed at the trees. He doesn’t breathe.

A deer peeks out from the brush, ears twitching, and runs off.

Tseng closes his eyes and exhales in one long breath. He’s just on edge. Rufus is his responsibility, and the repercussions would be dire if something happened to him.

When he looks back, Rufus’ eyes are wide, but not with fright. With… admiration.

“Teach me how to do that.”

Tseng looks down at the weapon, finger still on the trigger. _Well, if there’ll be more unsupervised trips to the park, it’s a necessity,_ he reasons. For Rufus’ safety, he promises himself, he’ll teach him how to use a gun.

v.

“Like this?”

Rufus extends his arms taut, gauging his target, distance, position. All the makings of a fine gunman, picked up so quickly. He shouldn’t have expected less from the president’s son.

“Almost.” He moves behind Rufus to push his arm up slightly and bend his elbow, then frowns. Something still isn’t right. He unclips his own gun from his belt and holds it out, comparing it to the boy’s. “Your grip. Hold it like mine.”

“Okay…” Rufus looks from Tseng’s hands to his own, shuffling his fingers and angling his wrist, but the uncertainty on his face is visible. Tseng clips his own again, returning to stand behind Rufus, and reaches around his body to grab his hands. _Alright._ He bends just slightly to reach Rufus’ height and keep a careful distance between their bodies.

“Like this,” he says, gently uncurling his fingers from the grip. Tseng places Rufus’ left hand on the hilt, index finger flat on the side, then brings his right hand on top. “And lift your arms again. Remember to keep your elbows bent, just a little. You’ll feel the recoil if they’re too taut.”

“Right.” Rufus lifts the pistol. 

Then steps backwards into Tseng’s chest.

Tseng tenses, unsure of what to do. It feels wrong; he’s never laid a hand on him before, like touching something that important will cost him his job. What would someone say if they were to pass the windows? _I saw that Turk touching the President’s son. What was he doing?_ Would they report it to Shinra himself? He steals a glance at Rufus’ face to gauge his reaction, but his expression hasn’t changed. His head is nested slightly in the juncture of Tseng’s shoulder now, blonde hair just brushing against his cheek, but his focus is still on the gun, on how his hands are wrapped around the hilt. Tseng takes a deep breath and only smells his cologne, clean and sharp, exactly like he’d expect it to. He silently debates, then pulls him back further into his arms. _It’s to help him,_ he reasons with himself, eyeing where Rufus’ much smaller hands lie under his own on the grip.

“Yeah. Just like that.” He guides Rufus’ arms up, aware of the muscle beneath his dress shirt tensing against Tseng’s. “Relax, remember,” he reminds him, and his shoulders drop, arms laxing. “Okay, this is a good position, now—” His index finger brushes over Rufus’ on the trigger— “push.”

Rufus pulls the trigger. The bullet flies. It hits the target right in the center.

Rufus laughs. Tseng can’t see his face, but he can feel the rise and fall of his back against his chest. It feels strangely warm. Rufus half-turns in his arms, blue eyes lit up with a smile. Tseng has never seen the shower of freckles across his nose this close.

“Can we try more?”

“As much as you’d like.”

So they do. Tseng guides Rufus through every shot, even when Rufus gains enough control to do it himself, because he doesn’t ask Tseng to stop. Finally, Rufus lowers the gun and lets out a long breath. 

“Ready for a break?”

“I think. I don’t know how you do this all day.”

“I _don’t_ do this all day. Weapons are for emergency situations.”

Rufus hums. “Well then, for someone who _rarely_ uses his gun, you’re good at it.”

Tseng knows Rufus can’t see his face, but angles his head away to hide his own amusement anyway. “You’re doing well. If you practice more I’m sure you’ll be the same in no time, sir.”

Rufus’ hands are still under Tseng’s. They’re cold. He runs his thumb against the ribbed grip. “You know, you can call me Rufus when we’re alone.”

“I—” Tseng falters. “I’m on duty. I shouldn’t. Sir.”

“Well, that’s why I said when we’re alone.” He turns fully in Tseng’s arms this time and smiles up at him from under the bangs hanging in his eyes. “My dad isn’t here to have a heart attack over it.”

Tseng considers. Perhaps he’s overstepping his boundaries as a Turk, but he feels emboldened by Rufus’ casual attitude, and takes the risk. “Are you two close?”

“Me and my dad?” He breathes out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “We don’t try to be. Maybe at one point, if that’s what you’re wondering. It doesn’t really matter anymore.”

He changes the topic. “What about your mother?”

“She died. When I was seven.”

“I—” He swallows. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I don’t mind.” Rufus shrugs, drawing shapes in the silk of Tseng’s shirt, hands against his chest. Tseng swallows, hoping he can’t feel his heartbeat pick up. “My dad didn’t really make it public, so it’s nice. To not act like it’s a secret all the time.”

Tseng nods. He can’t say understands the pressure of a family, but the weight of soaring expectations is something he knows well, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find it relieving too. There’s too much sensitive information to dance around already for two boys their age.

“Well,” Tseng says, “if I’ll be around this often, I can’t imagine many secrets will stay intact.”

vi.

It’s earlier than usual when the elevator door whirrs open and he hears footsteps on the cement behind him. Probably the same secretary it’s been the last three days, sent to collect him with a request from his dad. He wonders silently why it hasn’t been Tseng. He hasn’t even seen him around the building these past few days. The thought only upsets him more.

Rufus tightens his grip on the railing and lets the wind blow his hair into his eyes. His dad will be irate that it’s ruffled once again, especially if he’s to sit in on another meeting with business partners from out of town. He sucks in a deep breath and forces himself to turn around. There’s no getting out of this one, only facing it. He turns, open his eyes, and—

His first instinct is to be flooded with relief. It’s Tseng.

His second is panic. The white of his collared shirt is tinted deep red, the same shade splayed across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, his usually sleek and tightly-tied hair hanging in damp strands around his face. Rufus’ eyes travel down his hands—shaking so hard the gun grasped at his right threatens to fall to the ground.

Tseng stops when he sees Rufus’ face. “I’m sorry—” He chokes on the words. “I didn’t know where else to go—"

Rufus doesn’t ask, just runs to him and holds him so tight he fears he might hurt him. He doesn’t know how long they stand like that, desperately clutching each other on the windy rooftops, and he doesn’t care. He’s so thankful to feel Tseng’s heartbeat, his ragged breath, to just know he’s alive and in his arms. When Tseng finally speaks, his voice quivers just as much as the rest of him.

“It never gets easier,” he says hoarsely. “I thought it would.”

“You can’t blame yourself.” Rufus doesn’t know if it helps. He’s never had to kill anyone. He’s never even had to know the details of the darker side of Shinra; his father made sure of that. Kept him far away from the danger and bloodshed, sticking the Turks between his son and any nefarious deeds like a barrier to protect him. Part of him is glad to see this. He doesn’t want to be protected anymore. He wants to be there for Tseng.

“Who else is there to blame? I’m the one that killed him. I don’t even know what he did to deserve it. I—” His voice cuts off into a sob and he buries his face deeper into Rufus’ shoulder. Rufus lets him. He doesn’t know what he can say. He’s heard Veld tell him a million times, _it’s just a job,_ but something tells him that’s the opposite of helpful. And anyway, there’s probably no _helpful_ right now. Just dealing with it.

“I’m so happy you’re back,” he finally murmurs into his ear. “No one told me where you went.”

“I’m sorry,” Tseng whispers back. “I should’ve told you. It’s my job. I just couldn’t—”

Rufus shushes him and runs his fingers through the hair at his ears. “Don’t worry about that.”

The meeting is probably well underway by now, with his father fuming at the head of the table that his son would dare make him look this bad by not attending. It gives him a silent satisfaction. He pulls Tseng closer. Maybe when he’s ready, he’ll ask. The idea of Tseng bearing it alone is too much.

When they finally pull away, Rufus looks down to see red soaked into his own pristine white suit and jacket. That, too, gives him satisfaction.

vii.

“He’s a spoiled child. You can’t seriously be thinking about putting him in charge of—”

“Does he even know how? This would be better left in the hands of someone else.”

“Just because he’s the son of the president doesn’t make him an expert. He has no experience, no qualifications, and he’s a brat. Whatever they’re suddenly doing to make anyone think otherwise is ridiculous.”

“Enough.” A booming voice silences all the others in the room. “It’s already been decided. He’s said he can do it, and we’ll give him the chance to prove himself. What good is an heir, after all, if he’s incapable of something this simple?”

Tseng hears irritated huffs from around the table as everyone falls silent. He takes the opportunity to slip in and stops at the doorway, where all the unfriendly eyes immediately turn to meet him.

“I apologize for the interruption,” he says gracefully. He turns to his own superior. “You’re needed downstairs.”

“Right.” He stands up and dusts off his slacks. “We’ll see to it the boy stays on schedule. Until next time, then.” He regards the rest of the room with a half-nod and thin-lipped smile, then follows Tseng out. As soon as the door shuts, he leans against it and breaths out an exasperated breath.

“That bad?” Tseng asks.

He smiles down at him. “It always is when dealing with the directors. Nothing but demands, demands, demands.”

“I hate to ask sir, but—”

Veld peeks back through the glass panels and shakes his head, holding out a hand to silence him. “Not here, Tseng. Let’s leave first.”

When the elevator glides past the recreation floors and exhibit halls, Tseng tries again. “Forgive me for asking, but what is this about making sure… _who_ stays on schedule?”

Veld gives him a smile of either mischief or sympathy. Tseng can’t tell at the moment. “The president’s son. He’s undertaking a project to determine energy needs of the city and how to increase mako output to meet those needs.”

“And…”

“And he’ll need an escort.”

Tseng groans. “With all due respect, sir, I feel like an infantryman, not a Turk.”

Veld faces him and places a hand on his shoulder. “I know, Tseng. But this really is necessary. You know part of our job is escorting important clients, and, well… there’s no one more important than the President’s son.” His eyes drift from Tseng’s face to the fresh red marks only beginning to heal from beneath his tight collar. “And I think you could use a break from other assignments.”

“I much prefer the _other_ assignments,” he says, but his mind is already on Rufus.

Veld just chuckles. “I know. But from what I’ve seen, the boy is nowhere near as moody when he’s with you.”

Tseng’s heart skips a beat. “What do you mean?”

Veld turns a half-step. “I think you know.” Tseng feels his eyes boring holes into his skin, but pretends not to. “Looks like I was right when I said you two were a good match for each other. You handle him better than the rest of us could.”

Tseng straightens his back. “Right. Well, he probably feels better with someone his age.”

“Tseng.” His voice softens. “Just remember, he’s a lonely kid. The President’s always been… hard… on him. Be smart.” The elevator stops. He holds his hand out, beckoning to the doors. Every trace of his earlier solemnity is gone. “Well, good luck.”

Tseng just squares his jaw and steps out, turning to watch the elevator continue up while Veld gives him a mirthful grin as he disappears from sight. He has half a mind to follow him back, but something about his words keep him glued in place. Tseng steels himself and crosses the lush carpeting, knocking on the door he’s come to know as Rufus Shinra’s.

Veld’s warning plays over and over in his mind once they’re together, wondering if there’s something he missed. He follows the boy from a respectable distance as he walks city streets, alleys, tallying buildings and corporations, occasionally telling Tseng where to stop the car so he can get a closer look at certain blocks. Of course, Tseng’s job is to listen and obey, but when the boy tells him to park in a run-down neighborhood Tseng is absolutely sure his own colleagues have investigated for crime syndicates, he hesitates.

“I don’t think this is safe, sir.”

“It’s fine. This is perfect. I need to see how older sections of the city consume energy. The buildings are different, you know…”

He rambles on, and Tseng falls into his usual step behind him, drowning him out as he immediately notes every exit and too-dark corner in sight. It’s an old brick and mortar building, not the newer or more sleek design Tseng is accustomed to in the city center. And it doesn’t appear anyone has actually used it in years.

“Sir, we’re leaving.”

“Not just yet. I—”

“Sir—!” Tseng doesn’t get to finish the thought. A shadow falls across the wall, too close to be Rufus. He turns around and fires off one, two, three shots. Another comes back in his direction that grazes the skin of his arm. He spins on his heel to get a view of the president’s son, then something cracks along the side of his head. His cheek hits the floor. He’s vaguely aware of blood dripping hot down his temples, the pounding in his ears a little too loud, but he forces himself to stay calm and scans the room for the boy. 

There. Around a corner only visible from Tseng’s vantage point, back against the wall. Smart, he’ll give him that. Tseng’s lessons had paid off, at least.

He rushes to his side, wincing as more bullets crack against the brick wall just behind him. “Get out of here.” He motions with one gloved hand, darkened with blood. “Down there.”

“No.”

“Sir, that’s an order!” A bullet cracks against the wall behind them. “Go!” 

“I won’t leave—"

Tseng senses it seconds before it happens. He grabs Rufus with one arm and holds him against his chest, dropping to the floor and angling his body to shield him, then shoots the figure standing just inches from them. His body drops heavy on the floor. Tseng allows himself a moment to breathe, listen. Nothing. They’re gone.

He looks down at Rufus, holding his own pistol in one hand that’s now wrapped around Tseng’s waist. He notices something red dripping into his blond hair. He brings his own hand to his chin and feels nothing but the slick of his own blood.

“Are you alright?” he breathes.

Rufus meets his eyes, scarily calm for a boy who almost died. “I’m fine. But what about you, Tseng?”

“Huh?” He grits his teeth. “Next time I tell you to get out you need to get out. My job is to keep you alive and I can’t if you ignore orders!”

“You need stitches.” Tseng frowns. He probably does, but that’s not what concerns him. He’s been through this same situation dozens of times; Rufus hasn’t. His blood pounds in his ears as he brushes Rufus’ hair to the side and examines his skin for any sign of injury. Rufus sits still in his lap, and Tseng pretends not to notice the way he watches him so openly while he works.

“Am I okay?” He asks, smile playing on his lips.

“Hopefully,” Tseng replies. “Lift your chin.”

Rufus does as commanded. Tseng presses gently, feeling for any bruises, but there’s nothing. Just pale, unbroken skin, marred only by the bloody fingerprints left by Tseng’s gloves. He closes his eyes in relief, letting himself fall against the brick wall and breathe. He’s safe. Rufus is safe.

“Hey.” Rufus taps Tseng’s shoulder twice. “Wake up. My turn.”

“Huh?” Tseng raises his head again to see Rufus gingerly touching his forehead with the pads of his fingers. It’s no use, he knows; anything he needed sewn up it’s too late for, and any other injuries won’t be visible until he’s cleaned. Rufus seems to consider this, then untucks and lifts the ends of his blue silken shirt to wipe some of the mess away. Tseng’s heart quickens watching him, intensely focused on his task. He shifts in Tseng’s lap to get closer, pressing his knees into the cold floor, and Tseng doesn’t have to think before putting his hands on his hips to hold him steady. The corners of his already deviously satisfied lips curl up even further.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Tseng manages to say, breathy, even if he doesn’t really want him to stop.

“Why not?” Rufus asks, but he doesn’t really sound interested at all.

Tseng can’t think of a response. His eyes flick down to the growing patch of skin visible around his stomach, muscle rippling as he works along Tseng’s temples. “Your clothes are getting dirty. Those probably cost more than I make in a month.”

“Mm.” He stops momentarily to consider his work. “If my dad is that mad, he’ll buy more.”

The casual mention of his father brings Tseng back to his senses. He takes in the setting around them once more, dark and moldy, and yes, the president would have him hung if he knew what he was doing with his son in this place. He bites back a groan as Rufus shifts again. Even the image of the old man murdering him in cold blood isn’t enough to remove him from his lap.

Rufus pulls back and drops his shirt. The fabric that was pristine only five minutes before is unsavable now. If he hadn’t been here, he’d have thought Rufus was the one who’d gotten grazed with a bullet. He’s glad he wasn’t. The way he looks at him is too soft, too affectionate, to direct towards someone like Tseng, who’d just taken the life from three people without a second thought. Rufus is the only one who’s ever dared to look at him this way, but he shouldn’t. Veld’s words echo in his mind once again. His heart wrenches. He’s known the boy for too long, seen firsthand just how alone his position has often left him, to let him do this.

And Tseng is the one with a duty to fulfill.

“We should leave,” he says abruptly, raising his legs off the stone floor and leaving Rufus no choice but to stand too. Rufus holds out a hand once he’s on his feet. Tseng blinks, dumbfounded, but takes it and hauls himself up.

Rufus holds his hand a second too long, squeezes tight, then drops it and continues down the hall without another word. Tseng doesn’t miss the gun still clasped in the other his hand.

He swallows thickly. All the pain he’d blocked out on adrenaline alone is starting to kick in. It’ll hurt for days to come, but he doesn’t regret it one bit. Not when Rufus is walking away uninjured.

His shoulders still burn with the ghost of Rufus’ gentle touch. It somehow feels empty; he wishes he hadn’t rushed him to get up so soon, enjoyed their private moment for just a few seconds longer. Tseng shakes his head and digs his nails into his palm. He thinks about Rufus’ mother, his father, the way he walked home alone every day after school. _He’s lonely,_ he scolds himself, forcing one step, two steps, down the empty corridor, still unsteady on his feet. _He’s just lonely. Those feelings aren’t for you._

Then what about his own feelings?

They don’t speak the entire ride back to the Shinra building.

viii.

Rufus sits alone in his office, tapping the edge of his desk with his pen. He tries to do something, anything, to calm the restless urgency coursing through his body, but nothing works. Not the breathing exercise his coaches had taught him, not distraction like the other directors had suggested. He can’t take it anymore. Rufus stands up, pacing back and forth by the windows overlooking the city. The motion of the blinking lights and racing cards gives him something to focus on.

A knock sounds on the door. “Come in,” he calls.

Tseng opens the door a crack and peers in before entering fully. “Sir.” 

“Shut the door.”

Tseng enters fully and closes the door behind him. Rufus slows his pace by the window but doesn’t stop.

“Is something wrong?”

Rufus sighs, shutting his eyes. “I’m not sure—” The phone on his desk rings, cutting him off. Tseng looks at it, a silent question. Rufus knows he’s always willing to take a call for him, but not this one. He shakes his head and treads back across the room, footsteps heavy. “Rufus Shinra speaking.”

“Rufus.” He winces at the gruff voice on the other end of the line. He’ll never get used to hearing his father upset. 

“Yes.”

“I saw your reports. I’m going to send them back with suggestions. I want you to work on them and have corrections back to me by tomorrow.”

Rufus bites the inside of his mouth, sneaking a look up at Tseng. He stands by the wall with his eyes politely averted to the floor, but it’s no use. President Shinra talks loud enough for three people. He knows he can hear his voice booming through the phone.

“I understand. I’ll start as soon as I can.”

He places the phone back on the receiver and leans over the desk with two palms flat on the wood. Tseng is by his side the next moment, reaching out a tentative arm to steady him. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Rufus breaths out. “Just my dad.”

“Maybe you should sit.” Rufus is capable of walking back to his chair on his own, but lets Tseng keep both hands light on his forearm anyway. It’s comforting, the kind of soothing that pacing or breathing refused to bring him. 

“About the reports you were drafting?”

“Unfortunately. Seems they aren’t good enough for him. Nothing I do is ever is,” he says bitterly, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. “Would it kill him to say he’s proud of me for once?”

“Sir—” Tseng falters. “I know the President is hard on you, but _I’m_ proud of you.”

Rufus’ eyes widen. “Huh?”

Tseng, as if remembering himself, steps back and clears his throat. “You’ve been putting in a lot of work for the company,” he says. “You’re doing well.”

Rufus rises from his chair and wraps his arms around Tseng. He freezes, then slowly returns the embrace, pulling Rufus into his shoulder. He’s not stupid; he can feel Tseng’s hesitation like it’s his own. But this, Tseng holding him, his affirmations, tell him everything he needs to know. This is the Tseng he’s always known, that saved his life, that taught him to use a gun. The only person that’s ever made him feel normal.

“Only because I’m expected to.” He moves one hand over the breast of Tseng’s suit and looks up to meet his eyes. “But I don’t want to think about that right now. You’re due for a break right about now, right?”

“I am.”

“Then come with me to the recreation floor. I’m taking a break too.” He slips his fingers through Tseng’s, never breaking his gaze, willing him to just say yes. He can see the battle in Tseng eyes over the question and wants to shake it out of him. _Don’t do this now. Don’t treat me like the rest of them._

“Alright,” Tseng says, giving his hand a small squeeze.

Rufus feels a twinge of regret when they let go of each other at the door, but it doesn’t last long. Not when he gets to see Tseng sitting against the windowpane overlooking all of Midgar, more at ease than he’s been in a long time, suit jacket tossed off and leaning back on a plush sofa with the paper spread in front of him. Rufus looks out to the city and briefly wonders what it could’ve been like if they’d been born to any one of the other families in those high-rise apartments. He shakes off the thought almost as soon as it pops into his head. They probably wouldn’t have met. And for every moment that’s wrung at his chest and kept him awake at night in this lifetime, there’s been one just as precious he couldn’t give up.

He looks over to Tseng. “Anything good?”

Tseng shrugs. “Same stuff. Nothing we haven’t heard about before.”

“Or done ourselves. Didn’t you work on that mission to Junon?” He asks, pointing to a picture of new reactors being planned for installation.

“Oh yeah.” Tseng flips the page. “Wonder if they got the details right this time.”

Rufus doesn’t miss the way Tseng forgets to tack on his usual sir. He smiles.

And if Rufus is a few minutes late returning to his desk, no one will notice.

ix.

He’s just where he thought he’d find him: on the 47th floor, surrounded by Shinra employees in their company jackets, holding out clipboards for him to look over. Rufus, too, has switched his usual white suit for the simple jacket, collar of his dress shirt just peeking from the top. He holds a hardhat under one arm, pen in the other, signing off what Tseng guesses are construction permits if his appearance is anything to go by. And it is; he doesn’t miss his windswept hair, like he’d spent extended time on the rafters or roofs, or in the guts of the building by the cooling fans. Tseng watches from a distance, the way Rufus looks from one document to the other, giving critiques or approvals. One employee standing at his side opens his mouth to argue. Rufus silences him with one commanding hand when he catches Tseng’s eye to let him approach.

“Sorry to bother you, Sir. It’s getting late. I was wondering if you’ll need a ride home.”

Another one of his responsibilities as of late. Rufus’ recent projects regarding the reactors had apparently gone well; he was granted an official title and position in the company only shortly after completion. Tseng remembers it as a much more risk-inducing affair, but it had pleased whoever was counting. It had also given him a much larger profile, as the heir to the company was officially taking a stake in the business; and so, he had been advised to travel with caution. Insurgents were at large, after all. Anything to disrupt the balance of Shinra, and taking out the first in line was a tempting start.

And thus, the responsibility fell on Tseng.

“Is it? I hadn’t checked the time.”

Tseng peeks at his watch. “Six in the evening, sir. You aren’t required to stay late today.”

“Yes. Well.” He claps his hands together and turns to the men surrounding him. “Have the documents on my desk first thing in the morning. I’ll finish looking over them then.”

Rufus turns on his heel and begins down the hall, the way Tseng had come. He watches from a distance, the way he carries himself confidently, elegantly, chin held high. A dominating presence. Even Tseng would be apprehensive if he hadn’t known him for years already. This isn’t the boy he met at fifteen, both navigating their new roles and the weight of the expectations on their shoulders. Tseng doesn’t even think it’s the boy he almost died for a year ago, curling his gun in his hands, lying in Tseng’s lap. He eyes his retreating figure. He was almost as tall as Tseng now. When did he get so tall?

“Tseng. Are you coming?”

“Yes, sir.” 

The drive to his apartment, only twenty minutes outside the complex of the Shinra building, is as silent as always. Tseng peeks at him through the rearview mirror, where Rufus leans his head against the bulletproof glass window and stares out at the glittering lights of the city with a bored expression. How can someone look at the wonder of everything they’ll inherit one day and be bored?

“We’re here, sir.” Tseng stops the car gently in front of his apartment complex. “Should I see you in?”

“Hm.” Rufus lifts his head from the glass, making no motion to leave. “If you think it’s best.”

And of course, Tseng can’t say no to anything that isn’t an outright refusal, so he dutifully follows Rufus in, standing at the elevator doors until they open at the top floor, and stepping aside to let Rufus lead the way to his suite. As soon as the door unlocks, he nods. 

“Have a good night then, sir.”

“Wait.” Rufus reaches out a hand as if to catch his arm, but pauses midair. “You should come in for a moment.”

“I—” Tseng clears his throat. He can’t think of the appropriate response. “Is everything alright?”

“You worked hard today. You even stayed late for me. Just come in for a moment.” 

Tseng presses his lips together in a thin line, weighing the options. Rufus won’t give up, and it’ll blow over quicker if he just does as requested. And anyway, this part of his job is twenty-four hours; somewhere in the last two years, he had gone from _babysitter_ to _personal security_. Even if acting as a bodyguard didn’t quite satisfy the fiery ambition of a twenty-two-year-old, Veld had assured him protocol was just as important as being in action. Tseng had rolled his eyes on the way out of the room, but something kept him following Rufus around regardless.

“Alright.” He follows Rufus in and stands in the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back, trying not to stare too openly. He’d always known Rufus lived in lavish, especially after moving away from the President, but seeing his tastes up close never failed to stun him.

“Take a seat anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

Tseng sits on the edge of the plush couch and waits until Rufus returns with a glass filled to the brim with amber liquid. “Would you like anything?” 

“I have to drive home, sir.”

“Ah, right. Actually—” He hesitates. Tseng thinks he actually sees apprehension etched in the lines of his otherwise perfect face. “Will you stay tonight? I don’t feel quite safe.”

Tseng’s heart skips a beat in his chest, but he quickly pulls himself back together to find a response. “Did something happen, sir? Please report to me anything that puts you in danger—”

“No, no.” He waves a hand. “Just a feeling. And I’d feel much more secure if you were here.”

_Just a feeling_ isn’t basis for filing reports, or increasing security around the building, but a personal request from Rufus can’t be brushed off, either. It’s not the first time he’s done overnight security for him. Usually on missions to far-off towns, when there weren’t Shinra troops readily available to protect him.

He looks back to Rufus to give his answer and sees just a flash of the insecure sixteen-year-old boy he used to know. It’s only there for a second, replaced again by the easygoing man Rufus had grown into sometime between then, but it’s just enough to make him think, _maybe it isn’t so far gone._

“Of course, Sir,” he finds himself saying. “Please get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

“It’s only…” Rufus glances at the clock on the wall. “Barely eight. Come sit.”

“You’ve been working hard. I don’t doubt you could use it,” Tseng replies. 

“Don’t be like that. Come on.” He pats the cushion next to him twice with an exaggerated pout, and Tseng knows he shouldn’t; this is sliding into territory they’ve only narrowly avoided yet. But Rufus extends an arm with a second glass; an offering, or perhaps a proposition, and maybe that’s what fogs Tseng’s judgement as he reasons, _there’s no going back now,_ and takes a seat. 

“Relax. Don’t think of this as on-duty. You should let your hair down,” Rufus says, motioning to the blue tie holding it up.

Tseng instinctively reaches a hand to feel it. “It’s fine.”

“Don’t be like that.” He slides to Tseng’s side and holds one hand at the base of his skull, the other gently pulling the tie, then slips it onto his own wrist and fingers through Tseng’s hair, all the way to his shoulders. “It’s gotten long.”

Funny, Tseng thinks. He could say the same thing about Rufus, mess of blonde falling into his eyes and just past his ears. He remembers when he kept it neat and close-cropped. He likes it this way.

“I suppose. I haven’t been paying much attention.”

“It looks good. Maybe you should,” he murmurs, then points to Tseng’s glass. “Is that what you usually take?”

“Anything. I don’t have quite as refined tastes as you, I suppose.”

Rufus inches closer. Tseng plays with an ice cube on his tongue, but doesn’t move. He doesn’t need to. He has incredible self-restraint. “Well, do you like it?” Rufus asks in a low voice. “Highest quality available. Aged fifty years.”

“I wouldn’t have expected anything different.” Really, he can’t even taste it right now. Every nerve in his body is on fire. Rufus’ hand is on his thigh, chin resting on his shoulder. He picks up his glass to take another sip and finds it empty. When did it become empty?

“Want more?” Rufus produces the bottle from _somewhere,_ and yes, that does look expensive. He refuses, crushing another ice cube between his teeth. _He has incredible self-restraint._ Rufus breathes hot against his neck. The bottle clinks as it hits hardwood flooring. There’s a tug on his collar, then a mouth pressing hard on his own. 

Tseng thinks distantly he shouldn’t, but he can’t remember why. He grips Rufus’ hips roughly and pulls him into his lap, and he can’t find enough air between every desperate, breathless kiss. Rufus curls one hand tight in his hair and the other around his neck, inhaling sharply as he brings himself closer. The feel of him against his body makes Tseng dizzy. Tseng presses a palm steady on Rufus’ lower back and slides it beneath his untucked shirt until he can feel his muscles working with every shallow movement of his hips in his lap. He gasps into Tseng’s mouth. It still isn’t enough. Two hands tug on the collar of his shirt. Rufus mumbles _more_ against his lips. Something cuts through the haze in his mind. _He’s just lonely._ Tseng shakes his head. How can this be loneliness, when it’s been building for so long? _This is the president’s son. Look around you. He’ll keep going up, up, up, while you stay here, a bodyguard to clear the ground he walks on._

Tseng’s throat closes up. He kisses Rufus harder before the fogginess of the alcohol can wear off. He doesn’t want his better judgement invading his mind right now. It might be true, but he sees Rufus’ content smile behind his closed eyes and thinks maybe he can let them share this one moment.

“I’m going to be president one day,” Rufus whispers between kisses, an edge slipping into his voice that Tseng hasn’t heard before. “Things will be so much better, I promise. I’m going to be everything my father never was.”  
  
If only he knew that’s what Tseng is afraid of.

**Author's Note:**

> uhh wow this is my first fic ive posted in... 4 years? so thank you remake for getting me going again and thank you everyone for taking time to read!
> 
> yeah this got long so ill post the last half in another chapter :~) as of right now both my twt accounts are deactivated to work on school things (or fics apparently?) however id love to chat w some of u guys when im active again!


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